


The Beginning of Beauty

by AnJoanGrey, Nikte



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Time, First night of love, Helplessly in Love, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, Jealousy, M/M, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-11-01 12:13:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10921599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnJoanGrey/pseuds/AnJoanGrey, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nikte/pseuds/Nikte
Summary: "John? I'm going! Will not return tonight.""You won't be texting me at midnight for a case, will you? Because this will be a nice opportunity to go out with my girlfriend again.""No, no. I am going at someone’s.""What do you mean? Who is this 'someone' you are meeting?""I am going at Mycroft's house, will remain overnight," Sherlock simply replied.





	The Beginning of Beauty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nikte](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nikte/gifts).



Sherlock decided to keep Irene's phone and refused to answer any other questions from John, related to the subject.  **The Woman**...  _Pfff_ , he thought, gazing into the microscope. What had John said? That he had bumped into Mycroft downstairs and Mycroft had to take a call? A pity he would not come up for a few minutes... he had not seen him in 3 weeks and two days.

Once he ended the call, Mycroft walked up the stairs of 221 B Baker street to visit Sherlock, he had to convince his Little Brother to stop helping Adler, there were bigger things at play. Problem was, the more he insisted Sherlock to do or not do something, he will do exactly the opposite things. With each step he took as he ascended the stairs, he got more and more into his Iceman persona, he could not afford to let Sherlock see how much it troubled him... the interest his Little Brother showed towards Dr. Watson and now The Woman drove him mad; his Little Brother surely knew how to choose... 

"Good afternoon, Mycroft," he said while his Brother had not finished climbing the stairs yet.  He could smell his Armani perfume; besides, only Mycroft climbed the stairs with such a swift and elegant step. But even so, he did not lift his eyes from the microscope.

"Brother dear. How are you? Playing with one of your little experiments, I see."

Sherlock tried to hide his emotion at hearing his voice by staring into the microscope, as if he was glued to it. Finally, he managed to get enough control over his own emotions to lift his head. 

Seeing his brother´s impossibly blue eyes always made Mycroft´s heart skip a beat... but his consciousness did not register that, since his mind had suppressed his heart. He could not afford to had that bothersome valve dictating his actions and filling him with a need that was wrong and unnatural. He stared back into Sherlock´s eyes, not saying anything.

Sherlock stared back, without a word. It was becoming strange now, and his expert eye could tell that Mycroft was troubled.

"I'll make tea," he said, and went to the cooking machine to put a kettle on. He prepared the black tea the way he knew Mycroft liked it, then invited him to sit down. John was out, they were alone.

"Pouring down outside, huh? Your umbrella is wet."

"Thank you," Mycroft said. "I see Dr. Watson has some how domesticated you, but it seems your deductive skills have diminished if you have to state the obvious." He was not sure why he said that, but at this point of time it was like second nature to attack his Little Brother, if only to get a reaction from him.

"Drink your tea, Mycroft, then I will walk with you to your house. I believe two can fit under your umbrella."

"How gracious of you. May I warn you before you venture outside with me that you will not get anything from me so you can help your dear friend Irene?"

"Thank you for the warning. I do not need anything from you in order to offer her assistance, in case she needs."

"She does not seem the kind of woman who requires assistance of men... she is the kind to use them."

"Indeed," Sherlock said, studying the way Mycroft was placing the cup in the saucer. He had long and beautiful fingers.

"Pray tell what you put in my tea?" he asked at noticing Sherlock observing him

"Um, tea, two sugars and milk."

"Then what makes the cup so fascinating for you to watch it so intently?"

"You still play the piano," Sherlock noticed. "Your fingers are still agile. Strange how none of us has become a musician."

"Not at all. Being a musician would mean being in contact with... people. Which is always bothersome and annoying."

"True. Very true. Let's go, I'm bored. Need some air."

Sherlock got up, took the empty cups in the kitchen, then removed his blouse and put on a violet shirt, all in front of Mycroft.

"No sense of decorum, as always, brother dear," Mycroft said holding his umbrella to fight the urge to reach out and... and what?  _Foolish, foolish man you are,_   _Mycroft like Sherlock would tolerate any kind of touch coming from you._

"In front of my own brother? Don't be ridiculous. It is not as if you hadn't seen me - wait, in fact you hadn't. Not since we were children anyway."

Sherlock finished dressing and took his scarf and coat; as they were going out the door, Sherlock noticed it was rather cold; perhaps he should have taken one more overcoat. He watched Mycroft opening his umbrella and went close to him; he took his arm, with a cautious gesture, waiting to be rejected, pushed away at any moment. It felt, however, so good to touch Him even for a moment, that it was well worth...

Mycroft closed his eyes briefly - Sherlock was touching him willingly; he so wanted to cover his hand with his. But he did not, afraid his brother would end the contact, so he just started walking.

"So, who is she? Or he?" Sherlock asked.

"Really brother dear. Can't you tell?"

"I cannot."

"Something the great consulting detective cannot deduce? Never thought I would see the day that happened."

"Do you live together?"

"Do you see me living with someone? That is just preposterous."

"Good. I will sleep over tonight. John's bringing someone home for dinner and he asked me to give them some privacy."

"Glad to be of assistance," Mycroft said sarcastically. "Please, just refrain from conducting experiments in my kitchen."

"I do not have any substances with me in order to conduct experiments. Do you have flour, sugar and cocoa?"

"Another diet joke brother dear? They are becoming tiresome."

"You can answer yes or no sometimes, Mycroft, you know?" Sherlock said, looking downwards and feeling rather hurt by Mycroft's attitude.

"Yes, Sherlock, I have those ingredients at my house."

Sherlock just squeezed his arm a bit tighter, as if wanting to feel more of his arm, through the coat. He came closer to him, such that they were finally plastered by one another.

"Gosh I'm freezing!"

"You are too thin," Mycroft observed, placing his arm over Sherlock's shoulder and pulling him closer in order to share his body heat.

"Thank you for the compliment, brother dear, he said stoically," yet feeling as if he was melting... despite being so cold. So confusing...

"Not a compliment, brother dear. No wonder you are always cold. You should ask your doctor to feed you better."

"I do not have a doctor."

"Good Dr. Waston would be most disappointed at hearing that."

"Why? He is a doctor alright, but he isn't  _mine_."

They had reached Mycroft's apartment and Sherlock removed his damp coat, scarf and shoes, admiring how clean and orderly everything was. He washed his hands, then he informed Mycroft he would be making pancakes, and so he went to the kitchen and started doing exactly that. He loved to cook; and he was good at it.

He finished making them, he discovered a jar of blueberry jam in the fridge and asked Mycroft to come to dinner.

Somehow, he was not in the mood to speak much...

Mycroft had been working till Sherlock called him to dinner. It was delicious... and in a stupid surge of jealousy, imagining his brother cook for Watson, he lifted his eyes from the plate. 

"He  _is_  yours."

"Nobody is mine, Mycroft. I don't do relationships. I have never - you know - 'had' anyone, as so indelicately Irene pointed out."

"Despite that, you own Dr. Watson. You have him wrapped around your little finger."

Sherlock started to laugh, to mask his own surprise and shock at realizing that Mycroft was... jealous!! He just washed the plates they had used to eat and without a word he went to the living-room where he cuddled on the couch, turning on the TV.

"Gah, what a situation in Turkey..." he murmured.

"Yes... people and their misguided ideals..." Mycroft said sitting besides Sherlock, he wanted to enjoy as much of his brother's presence while he could.

"It is quite obvious President Erdogan wishes to consolidate his power," Sherlock continued to correct the television. He cuddled more comfortably on the couch and he continued to chirp away external politics issues. As he was cold, he slid his feet under Mycroft's legs on the couch.

"Still cold, brother dear?" Mycroft asked placing Sherlock's legs over his lap and covering them with a blanket.

"I'm always cold. From every point of view," he smiled.

"I do not think so, in your own, peculiar way, you show other people you care about them."

"Caring is not an advantage. Even though there are a few notable exceptions, in the laps of which I place my frozen feet..."

"Please, little brother, no need for that, you have made it clear over the last 20 years that you can't tolerate me..."

"Really, Mycroft?" Sherlock asked, turning towards him, comfortably leaned against the corner of the couch, his pupils widely dilated...

"Yes, you have mentioned time and time again you find me too pompous and your constant attacks to the way I look... I do no think I am a vain man, but my weight has always been an issue for me... you really know what to say to hit the target, gladly no one else has caught on that, or I would not live it down."

Sherlock looked downwards, feeling ashamed. He had been so stupid - not over the years with his constant comments regarding Mycroft's appearance, but also now, thinking that they could - they could what? He did not comment - he, who always commented about everything.

Mycroft sighed, starting a light massage on Sherlock´s feet.

"Do not act as if you care, Little Brother, that just brings my hopes up."

"Hopes... about... us?" His touch was electrical, it sent shivers of pleasure and desire through Sherlock's untouched body; his blue eyes were now almost black. Yet his expression was the same as always, calm, impenetrable, unreadable.

"Your pupils are blown wide. Where is the list, Sherlock?" Mycroft asked avoiding the question and misreading his brother´s body reactions, because it could not be what he wanted it to be... it was wrong and unnatural, and he knew it was and will always be one sided.

"I haven't taken anything for two and a half years, Mycroft... There isn't a list."

Mycroft kept looking at the TV. he did not dare look his brother´s way... after agonizing long minutes trying to deduce what his brother was thinking, he lifted Sherlock´s feet from his lap and got up. 

"I will be retiring now, I have an early meeting, you are welcome to use whatever room you want to sleep. Good night Brother dear."

When Mycroft stood up, Sherlock took his hand.

"Mycroft... Don't go. Look at me."

Mycroft sat down, once again, turning to look at his Brother, afraid of what Sherlock could read about him; he felt very vulnerable. The nice walk home, the dinner, their time watching T.V., it had all been so... domestic and had felt so right... like that was the way they should live their lives.

Sherlock's eyes were glowing with warmth and vulnerability as well, and he still had Mycroft's hand in his. Very slowly, he lifted it and pressed his lips on his wrist, kissing it tenderly... he did not know how to convey how he felt, words weren't really his thing... but he hoped Mycroft could finally understand...

Mycroft closed his eyes upon the brief contact, feeling a chill go through his body. 

"Sherlock... please, don´t." he said pulling his hand away, "This would be too cruel, this would destroy me... So there it is, my deepest, darkest secret, you deduced it, what now? The weight jokes would change to how unnatural my desires are?"

Sherlock's heart just sank once more... what, what could he do to make him see? There was only one thing left...

He moved closer to him, still without talking, and wrapped his arms around his head, slowly, delicately, afraid at any moment that Mycroft would just throw him down.

He approached his head to that of Mycroft and very slowly he touched his lips with his own, closing his eyes... It was the moment of truth... hopefully... hopefully...

Sherlock may laugh at him after this, but he just could not push him away, he had the opportunity now, he may never have it again, so he pulled Sherlock to sit astride his legs, and kissed him with all the love he had been suppressing for years.

For Sherlock it was the first kiss ever; his cheeks became red and his eyes, two dark pools; he responded to the kiss with everything that was alive within himself, hoping Mycroft would... would... feel it...

Mycroft ended the kiss softly at feeling Sherlock's response. He took his face in his hands and looked deeply into his eyes.

"Yes," Sherlock said.

And even if he had said only three letters, he felt they were the most important letters he had ever uttered.

"We will have to be discreet," Mycroft said while he got up carrying Sherlock who hugged his waist with his legs. Mycroft took him to his room and deposited Sherlock on the bed like he was the most precious and delicate thing he owned.

Once on the bed, Sherlock's composure and self-control started to diminish and he started to tremble...

"It is all right, my Sherlock, we will not do anything you do not want to."

Sherlock just smiled, almost incapable of speaking, extending his arms towards him, the distance suddenly unbearable.

Mycroft started kissing him again, softly, taking his time to savour him. He let his hands roam up and down Sherlock's sides

Sherlock felt like melting after each and every kiss, it was like in a dream… were they dreaming? Without realizing, almost, he slid one hand under Mycroft's white shirt, caressing his back, with his cold hand, but with infinitely tender gestures

"I do not know," Mycroft answered out loud. Like he had heard Sherlock's thoughts. "I just do not want this to end, I have... wanted you for too long."

"Then you must have me..." Sherlock said softly, untying the knot of Mycroft's tie and starting to unbutton his shirt.

He had absolutely no experience at all, but he knew that at the smallest hesitance from his part, Mycroft would stop… and he did not want that.

"If we go through with this, I will not let you go. I will keep you forever. You do know that, right?"

Sherlock nodded affirmatively, lost in his eyes.

And before realizing what he was doing Mycroft bit Sherlock's neck leaving a mark. 

"Mine," he growled against Sherlock's ear.

"Yes... Mycroft..." Sherlock murmured, almost not breathing, and those words felt so good, so perfect, almost as 'I love you'...

Mycroft kissed Sherlock forcefully. He could not say it either, but he wanted Sherlock to know, to understand what he felt for him.

Sherlock responded with equal force and passion to his kisses, as if they were in a deadly combat... meanwhile he managed to finally rip his shirt apart and throw it away together with the tie; he was ashamed of his lack of experience and hoped it would not make Mycroft change his mind, therefore he compensated his fear by being bold and having lots of initiative...

Although he did know it would work only up to a point... nobody had touched his body and Mycroft would soon realize it...

Mycroft laughed with tenderness and grabbed Sherlock's wrists with one hand placing them above his brother's head. 

"No rush, love," and then with his free hand he started unbuttoning his shirt opening it little be little and placing a kiss on each inch of skin he uncovered.

The sensation - Mycroft holding him down - was so intoxicating, that Sherlock nearly skipped a breath. But he decided to let him, just let him do, take, claim, whatever he wanted...

Mycroft felt the moment Sherlock surrendered and took advantage if it fully, divesting him and admiring the beauty his brother was.

Sherlock's body had started waking under the impact of such new sensations... his eyes half closed, his skin with goose bumps wherever Mycroft touched him... slowly starting to be aroused... Everything was so new.

Mycroft took off the rest of his clothes and re-joined Sherlock on the bed he then took his cock in his month while he prepared him. He did not want to hurt Sherlock. This was his first time after all.

Sherlock's long fingers threaded Mycroft's hair, everything was so intense....

"Please, Mycroft," he murmured, "I want you," even though he did not actually know what he wanted, or how... he had never had the slightest curiosity about sex.

Mycroft let go of Sherlock's cock and placed himself between his legs. He then aligned his penis with Sherlock's and started moving so they slide against each other, while he reached for the lube he kept on his side table. 

"Do you know what you are asking for, love?"

"I have not... done this... before," Sherlock said panting - "but I trust you ... so... yes.. do what... you want..."

"Never thought I would live to hear you say you trust me..." Mycroft said. It was too much...Sherlock initiating a kiss... knowing he was his first and then those words. Mycroft could not hold any longer. He started penetrating Sherlock. 

"Breathe, love, and do not fight it, it will hurt but I promise it will pass."

It was so intense that Sherlock's vision momentarily blurred - he took a deep breath as his own body was adapting.

"Look at me, Sherlock. You belong to me, now. No one will touch you like this. Never; understood?"

"You want me this much?" he managed to say when he caught his breath.

"I love you  _this_ much," Mycroft said almost with anger... he had fought with that feeling for years, with little success. He had become bitter and jaded, of course, no one noticed the change since he had never processed and express any feelings.

Sherlock relaxed as much as he could. The sensation was immensely intense, as Mycroft was well-endowed.  He did as Mycroft instructed him, and soon they were joined like never before, and Sherlock was sure he had never felt so good, so complete, before.

Mycroft pulled Sherlock into his arms, kissing him deeply; he felt the need to be inside him in every way possible. He was claiming him, marking him inside out.

Sherlock wrapped his arms around him as tight as he could, he no longer cared about the pain or vague discomfort which he felt, all it mattered was that they were together, at last, at last.

Mycroft started moving slowly, paying close attention to Sherlock's reactions. He did not only wanted to claim him he also wanted to give him pleasure. But Sherlock had no idea what was happening to his own body, what he felt... instincts had taken over completely.

"I've never... Let anyone..." he murmured bits of words. "I know you... thought..."

"Just feel, love and let go, but if I hurt you, you must tell me, understood?" Mycroft said holding Sherlock´s face between his hands.

Sherlock nodded, feeling it was important for Mycroft, continuing to respond to his kisses as if it was the end of the world; he had no idea for how much they continued like that, or how exactly he had reached his first orgasm ever; he had just felt Mycroft's hand on his cock, pumping rhythmically... He hadn't even done that by himself... everything was so new and fresh, and intense, and wonderful, that he eventually passed out... not from exhaustion, but rather from feeling too much, too suddenly.

Mycroft placed Sherlock delicately over the pillows, but despite him being unconscious, he did not stop thrusting into him, he just could not... Sherlock had said he will be his, he accepted Mycroft would not let him go... still, he knew his brother too well... he got bored easily... and this could be just a dream... so Mycroft would make the most of it, he will brand into his mind how Sherlock felt, how he looked, how he smelled.

Sherlock opened his eyes after a while and smiled at him. Mycroft had made a mess out of him, he doubted he could still walk or even stand.

"Hello," Mycroft said, undulating his hips and enjoying being inside Sherlock. 

"God," he said, dizzily.

"Never took you for the religious type," Mycroft said smirking, while he pushed inside Sherlock with a little bit more of force than the one he had been using.

"Ahh," Sherlock sobbed. "If you want to keep me locked here, let me tell you that you don't have to lock the door, there are little chances I am able to walk."

"Can you blame me," Mycroft said, part serious, part joking. "I would do anything to keep you by my side," and with one last powerful thrust he came inside Sherlock and it was bliss beyond what he could have ever imagined.

Sherlock wrapped around him even tighter, he wanted to say so many words, to tell him... how he felt, how it all felt... how he never wanted to go...

Mycroft hugged Sherlock tightly and hid his face in his neck, licking the mark he had left a few moments ago, or was it hours ago? He was not sure how long they had been together, and the realization that with Sherlock he lost track of time and forgot about every single one of his responsibilities and problems, made the Iceman do what he never did, he begged...

"Please, please Sherlock don´t leave, never leave."

"I won't come with you at work..." Sherlock murmured, caressing his hair and neck tenderly. "And it IS five-thirty... "

So, he had been making love to Sherlock all night long... he could not believe it... it had never been like this with any of his lovers, but he guessed it was to be expected; after all, he had not felt for any of them what he felt for Sherlock.

"No, you can´t come to work with me," Mycroft said regretfully, playing with Sherlock´s dark curls. "Come on, we should take a bath, then you can come back to bed and I will go to the office."

Sherlock tried to sit up

"Ow, what the hell, Mycroft," he started to laugh.

"Oh, you can stand torture and still walk, and after one night of love making you can´t even get up," Mycroft joked, carrying Sherlock bridal style and taking him to the bathroom, where he filled the bathtub with warm water and then placed Sherlock in it. He also took a couple of pills from the cabinet and handed them to Sherlock with a glass of water. 

"Take this, will make you feel better," he said, and then he went to take a quick shower in the stall that was placed on the other side of the bathroom.

It was such a nice feeling to have someone take care of him, Sherlock thought, relaxing in the bathtub... He looked at Mycroft showering, shaving, dressing; small things he had never seen; he was fascinated.

"Ready?" Mycroft asked standing beside the bathtub with a soft towel waiting for Sherlock to come out.

"The Bruce Partington plans will have to wait," Sherlock said stepping out of the tub - his entire body was filled with marks. "I need to sleep for a few hours."

"Of course, love," Mycroft said enveloping Sherlock with the towel and kissing him again, just because he could, then the carried him back to the bedroom where he placed him on the couch while he changed the sheets. Once everything was ready, he placed Sherlock on the bed and covered him with a mountain of blankets. "Will send you tea and toast, I have to go now," Mycroft said kissing Sherlock again.

"Mmm," Sherlock said softly and fell asleep in a second. When he woke up, he discovered his entire body was sore. But it was such a wonderful feeling and he had never felt better... He just dressed, put on his coat and scarf and went home to 221B, where John was alone, his girlfriend having left a couple of hours ago.

Sherlock studied himself in a mirror in the hallway for a second, his neck was full of marks. Oh well, let John have nasty comments, all he wanted, he did not care.

"Hey, Sherlock, thanks for giving us some alone time yesterday, I felt kind of bad, this was your apartment first after all, where did you spend the night?" John asked without lifting his eyes from the newspaper.

"At someone’s."

"You didn't sleep in the streets, did you? I know you are kind of used to it and your Homeless Network is willing to lend you a hand, but really I could have talked to Greg I bet he would have let you stay with him."

"Who is Greg?"

"Really, Sherlock, when will you stop changing the man´s name, I mean after all I think he is dating Mycroft, or something like that."

"He is?" Sherlock asked, suddenly feeling like suffocating.

"Well, I am not sure how serious it is for Mycroft, your brother is even more difficult to read than you, but they do go out and Greg does want it to become something permanent and exclusive."

Sherlock sat down on his chair, staring in the distance. He took his violin and started plucking the chords, far away gone in his own mind.

"Hey, Sherlock, are you going to sulk because Greg is dating Mycroft? I know your brother can be a pain in the ass, but he is only human, after all, and before you start with conspiracy theories, I bet your  _arch-enemy_  isn't planing to hurt you by dating Greg."

Sherlock no longer heard him, he did not even register when John went out, then returned a few hours later.

John found Sherlock in the same position he had left him, he was not sure what had made the genius sink in that state, he doubted it had anything to do with what he said about Mycroft and Greg, Sherlock was just not interested in that kind of thing.  He wondered what had Sherlock done the previous night, his neck was filled with marks that looked that hickeys, but knowing the consulting detective, that could not be... it simply couldn't, after all John was the closest person to Sherlock and he had rejected him more than once when he had tried to have something beyond friendship with him.

He went to the kitchen and prepared tea and returned to the living-room, leaving a cup in front of Sherlock as well as a sandwich, he was sure his friend hadn´t eaten anything at all.

"Sherlock, time to eat something, I know you are probably working on something, but even you need to eat."

Sherlock plucked a perfect fifth on the violin, it sounded harmonious and yet empty... He did not register the sandwich, nor the cup of tea, still lost in thoughts.

"Sherlock, eat, I am sure your brother will be coming around asking about the case he gave us... Fine ignore me, I will be eating my lunch now, really in this house I never know when my next meal will be."

Mycroft could hear Dr. Watson´s whining while he got up the stairs to 221B Baker St., he wondered how Sherlock stood it, but perhaps his... brother was lost in his Mind Palace. It was difficult to even think of Sherlock as his brother... everything had changed last night. He finally went into the apartment, not bothering to knock the door. 

"Good afternoon gentlemen," he said, although his whole attention was only on Sherlock.

Sherlock became immediately more aware of his surroundings.

"Good evening Mycroft. How is Greg?"

Mycroft rose an eyebrow and directed a look at John. He did not understand what Sherlock was talking about.

John just shrugged his shoulders and took his tea and sandwich to finish eating in his room, he really did not want to be in the middle of this.

"Your boyfriend," Sherlock said. "The one who wishes to have an exclusive and permanent relationship with you."

"I see Dr. Watson and you have been gossiping," Mycroft said, and once he was sure John was in his room and he had closed his door, Mycroft pulled Sherlock into his arms and kissed him till he was breathless.

"You will listen carefully to me, I may be the Iceman but I am not a virgin. Greg is one of many, he does not mean anything to me. The only one with whom I want to have an exclusive and permanent relationship is you, are you willing to have that with me, despite my past?"

"You seem to mean a great deal to him though," Sherlock said, his eyes black and dangerous.

"And you seem to mean a lot to John. What is your point Sherlock? I am not interested in Greg, as a matter of fact, I put an end to his... pretensions this morning, after I left the house. I did not want any complications now... I can´t lose you."

"Why have you come?" Sherlock asked, simply.

"I came for you," Mycroft answered, suddenly insecure, he let go of Sherlock and gave a step back. "Excuse me, I will be leaving now, you are welcome to visit my house whenever you want."

Sherlock made no attempt to stop him. He still had not finished processing everything in his mind. He just watched him place his umbrella on his shoulder, go down the stairs and out the door. He remained on his chair a while longer, after which he went and changed his clothes.

"John? I'm going! Will not return tonight."

"You won’t be texting me at midnight for a case, will you? Because this will be a nice opportunity to go out with my girlfriend again."

"No, no. I am going at someone’s."

"What do you mean? Who is this someone you are meeting?"

"I am going at Mycroft's house, will remain overnight," Sherlock simply replied, because John would not start imagining things and because he disliked lying, he was incapable of it in fact. Saying that, he wrapped himself in his coat and walked calmly up to Mycroft's house, where he rang and waited for him to open. He felt as if he had... returned home.

Mycroft had worked all day long, not only because the kind of work he did - actually required it, but because his life was empty, no friends or family with whom he wanted to share his evenings. So after what had happened last night with Sherlock, he had rearranged his schedule, for once eager to get home. He had made sure to leave most of his nights free, of course in case of an emergency he would be called up... he had been so foolish.

Once he arrived home he was greeted by his housekeeper, who was very surprised to see him arrive home early, she even asked if he were sick. After reassuring the old lady that everything was fine with him, he told her to go home.

He hoped Sherlock will come, maybe not today and maybe not every day... he was so pathetic... Obviously if Sherlock did not come at all this week, he will go back to his old schedule, no point in coming to an empty house to wallow in self-pity.

He sat in the library drinking a scotch, playing in his mind eye every second he had spent with Sherlock last night. He was so immersed in his memories, that he did not hear that someone rang the doorbell, if it not were for his alarm system that sent a message to his cell phone whenever someone was at his door step, he would have missed it. He checked the security cameras and realized it was Sherlock, he got up from the couch with a jump, something he will deny till the day he died and hurried to open up the door.

"Good evening, Sherlock," he greeted, "came to cook dinner for me once more?" he asked smiling, a real smile.

"I came home," Sherlock said, after which he pushed him against a wall and kissed him.

Mycroft took Sherlock between his arms and dominated the kiss in a matter of seconds.

Sherlock felt like melting in his hands once more - yes, this was his home...

"I was afraid you would not come today," Mycroft confessed.

"John was very convincing that you and Lestrade were seriously committed to each other. I didn't know what to believe."

"I have never been in a relationship with anyone, I have never been interested in having a relationship with anyone. It was just sex... it helped me stop my mind for a moment and get rid of stress, I swear, Sherlock, you are the only one for me."

"Then why are we standing here?" Sherlock giggled, they were having such an important discussion in the hallway, and all he could think of was...

"Where do you think we should be?" Mycroft asked innocently.

Sherlock smiled wickedly and pushed Mycroft towards the bedroom, while ripping his shirt off. He wasn't sure of who was the dominant partner in their relationship, well he was about to test this theory now.

"This is the second shirt you ruin love, I will have to punish you for that," Mycroft said, holding Sherlock´s wrist with one hand, while with the other he pulled at his curls, exposing his neck to bite him with force.

Sherlock's eyes sort-of widened at such commanding undertones... it was as if they sounded familiar...

"Have you eaten anything at all today love?"

"No. And do not even start lecturing me. No one has died because of a 24-hour fasting."

"We will eat dinner now, then I will make love to you all night long. And I do not want to hear a word about it, you are mine now, you will take care of what is mine, understood?"

Sherlock frowned even deeper, but since Mycroft did not want to hear a word, he did not say any.

"So what are you going to cook tonight?" Mycroft asked smiling, his Sherlock looked adorable when he was sulking 

"I am going to cook? Who said I was going to cook?"

"I said so, unless you just want to eat fruit and yogurt, you know I can´t cook."

"Mycroft," Sherlock said dangerously. He approached him and wrapped his arms around his neck, sweetly, but with dark eyes, the eyes of a predator. "You act as if you - as if you - "

Sherlock did not find the right words this time

"I told you last night, you are mine now," Mycroft said feeling a rush of possessiveness. "You belong to me."

"And you want to be in charge."

"Not always," he said, pulling Sherlock into his arms while he traced his lips with his thumb. "I know you are your own person, still I feel the need to take care of you, and that implies that I expect you to do as I tell you, for your own good."

"You remember when you told me 'Don't make me order you' at the beginning of the Bruce Partington task?"

"Yes... but that was different, that was work, this is personal."

"Well, I would like to see you try," Sherlock repeated the same words, with a giggle, and then he started making dinner.

Mycroft went to the bedroom and pulled on a sweater, and then he re-joined Sherlock in the kitchen.

"It smells delicious, why do you never cook when you are at Baker Street? Dr. Watson is always complaining of you not doing anything around the house."

"I am lazy. And busy. Ohh! You look fabulous All I see you in is suits."

Mycroft blushed at Sherlock´s compliment, he blushed for crying out loud, who would have thought he was capable of losing control like that.

"I just... I never thought you found me aesthetically pleasing."

"You are beautiful," Sherlock said simply. "And I adore you."

It was the beginning of Beauty, and they both knew it.


End file.
